


soul responding

by orphan_account



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, I started w/ Hanamiya cos he's my favorite piece of trash, idk how i got here, some of these are not actually short at all and i'm a filthy liar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-08 01:53:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13448022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: short knb soulmate AUs for the...soul.(•_•)( •_•)>⌐■-■(⌐■_■)





	1. VOICE

**Author's Note:**

> VOICE: you hear the voice of your soulmate saying a word that is a significant part of your meeting + the resulting relationship you share, platonic or otherwise. the word is one you will hear often throughout your life in order to trigger the voice’s reaction (headaches, etc.) — the spirit’s own supernatural attempt to speed along the process of meeting. in this case, the ‘voice’ soulmate quirk is super rare as only approximately 3% of the modern day population is sensitive to it.

_Cute._

The word has echoed through your mind sporadically through the years. The first time you’d heard it you’d only been a child. Out in the park, your legs hanging from the swing-set, and your mother raising her camera and telling you to smile. The flash had gone off leaving you in a slightly dizzy haze. Your mother laughs at the photo, even now, and your comically disoriented look. You hate it. Your eyes are crossed. But back then she had come over to ruffle your hair and fondly stated, “How cute.” 

And that word had shifted something inside you. 

 …Cute. 

It became easier to hear the older you’d gotten. By fifteen, you could make out the voice without the troubling notion of never having heard it before—it became familiar and so your brain stopped fighting it so much. With time, it transitioned into less of a strain and a worry and more of something to look forward to. Well. Sort of, at least. 

The wariness you’d carried since learning of it all and the concept of having a choice ripped out of your hands and dangled before you…never completely went away. It had been a long, tiring journey through many different psychiatrists and pediatricians to find out exactly whether the source of the voice in your head was actually something of legend or simply the imagination of a bored child but once it had you’d been deemed extremely fortunate to be part of the 3% of the population to receive a _voice._

Fortunate, huh? It had never felt like your place to argue. 

“You’re so lucky,” Miyu tells you. Her eyes are alight, though her lips are pulled into a pout that doesn’t fool you whatsoever. You roll your eyes to yourself as she distracts herself with tying her long, caramel colored hair back into a high ponytail. “To have gotten your voice so early… or at all.” 

A younger you wouldn’t agree, really. The headaches that came from the sudden intrusion of a voice completely unfamiliar to you, speaking one word over and over… Your brain had been especially adamant at trying to push it out until you’d grown enough, but even still the headaches came and went, given that you’d yet to meet the owner of it… Still, you sort of understand where your best friend is coming from. Most people never get the chance to fully acknowledge their voice— it’s become so uncommon in modern society that most people are fine with it, laughing off the fanciful ideas of ‘soulmates’. Miyu, however, is not. 

“It could still happen,” your elbow nudges hers. “Besides, the chances of ever even meeting—“ 

“—are so slim, it might as well not even be a possibility that exists, right?” The shorter girl scoffs, but there’s a hop in her step that was missing before. “But what if you do? Who _doesn’t_ want true love with a lifetime guarantee, idiot?” 

 _True love_ , you turn your head so you can safely roll your eyes away from her view. When you turn back, she’s giving you a baleful glare. “Most soulmates throughout history ended up in platonic bonds, _idiot_ ,” you repeat, and it’s Miyu’s turn to roll her eyes. “The old stories are the only examples of fated love there are. You’re being too dramatic. You’re more likely to find that kind of relationship simply by confessing to someone you like rather than waiting for fate.” 

“Always so pessimistic.” 

“ _Realistic_ ,” you correct. 

“I can’t wait for you to be wrong,” the shorter girl crows, abruptly turning on the heels of her feet to face you, walking backwards. Her lips pull upwards into a smirk you know all too well. “Humility is a _cute_ look for you.” 

You flinch at the return of it — as though you haven’t heard it a thousand times by now— before glaring sourly at your dearest friend. 

She tosses her head back and laughs. 

* * *

“This is such bullshit,” whines Miyu. 

“Stop complaining,” you retort, already at work tearing down the nets. “You’re the one who wanted to join a sports team.” 

“I didn’t mean as a _lackey_!” 

You give her, more _specifically_ her tiny stature, a skeptical look. “You’re too short for volleyball. You should’ve known there was no way they’d let you on the team.” 

“Hey! And what about you? You didn’t even tryout.” 

“Idiot. We’ve been together since junior high… there’s no reason to separate now.” You ignore the glossy stare she fixes you with at that and add, “Don’t give me useless looks. Come help me fold the net.” 

“I knew you cared,” Miyu wipes a pretend tear away from the corner of her eye before complying. The two of you make short work of what equipment was left lying about after volleyball practice before dragging it all back into the storage room. Of course, Miyu’s complaining doesn’t let up, even though this had been entirely her idea to begin with. “This sucks! We should quit, shouldn’t we? Can you imagine a whole season of this…?” 

“It’d be irresponsible.” But she’s not completely wrong. You’d never been interested in sports to begin with but you weren’t interested in going through your first year of high school without your best friend beside you the whole way, either… 

“Who cares? We can just join the cooking club, or something.” 

Unsurprisingly, the idea of Miyu starting a fire because she’d left the stove unattended is a thousand times worse than even lugging about volleyballs and sweaty jerseys for half a year. “No,” you retort quickly. “Come on, let’s just lock up for now. We can decide later.” _Once volleyball season is over._

Miyu huffs. 

You manage to shut the storage room door and lock it with the intention of leaving the key in the designated spot for the next team to use it— but that’s not _quite_ what happens. 

“Boys,” breathes your best friend reverently at the sight of a suddenly too-crowded gym. 

It’d be funny if it weren’t so sad. 

“The basketball team,” you acknowledge lowly, a mild dread washing over you at the realization. 

You know them, alright. The Kirisaki Daiichi High basketball team is notorious for its players. Most of them are your seniors but you’d come across a few of them in the halls and you’d witnessed the cruelty with which they treated even their own student body… You tug Miyu’s arm a little more harshly than intended. “ _Let’s go,_ ” you hiss, hoping to get out before you’re noticed. 

“But—!” 

You drag her quickly towards the gym exit, ignoring the eyes you can feel on the pair of you. 

“Wait.” 

Miyu squeaks. You freeze. 

You _know_ that voice. 

_No, no, no, no. Not now! Why now?_

You don’t turn but you hear deliberately slow footsteps draw closer to you. Miyu’s positively crimson in her cheeks and you can feel her fingers shaking beside your arm. 

A cough. Polite, but you know better. Of course you do. 

You don’t want to turn and look, but you do. 

“We’ve already cleaned and locked up,” you mumble quickly. “We—“ Your eyes dart to your feet and you see it. The key hanging by a lanyard…still gripped in your hands. “Oh.” 

“Oh,” a saccharine voice echoes more than a bit snidely. 

Your brain is screaming. 

“I’ll be taking that now, thanks.” The key is snatched from between your stiff fingers and you shudder pretty violently. Miyu is still frozen beside you, her face clearly betraying her shock. Your eyes flicker up to find a pair of steely hazel eyes poring over your expression. Hanamiya Makoto. You feel like throwing up—not because of fear, necessarily, but because you know this voice intimately despite never having spoken to him personally.

Okay. Maybe a bit of fear, too. 

After a moment of silence and his eyes obviously trailing the length of you— _evaluatin_ g— his lips quirk into an unpleasant smile. “Cute.” And then his back is turned and he’s taking long strides back to his onlooking teammates. 

Miyu unfreezes just long enough to scream on your behalf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternate ending: 
> 
> Miyu: well we could always assassinate him


	2. ZODIAC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ZODIAC: the constellation of your soulmate’s astrological sun sign along with their birth date and year appear as birth marks/tattoos. naturally, with the population of the world being what it is + the probability of shared birthdays, soulmate markings are regarded by _most_ as an inconvenience and aren’t taken seriously at all.

Once again, you find yourself staring vacantly down at the freckles forming an upside down Y on the inner part of your left wrist. Your teacher’s lecture is only half-registered as you distractedly allow your eyes to trail down further to find the date of _July 7th, 19xx_ scrawled below it in neat script. There’s nothing special about that day, not to you. Even as a child when your parents had tentatively explained the markings, always careful to mention _they’re not that serious so don’t think on them too much_ , as the years rolled by and each July passed, you’d felt only a vague sense of awareness that to someone out there—and it could be _many_ someones— that day could mean so much more.

You press a hand to your cheek, feeling bored, your eyes moving towards the student seated beside you. Across his neck are beauty marks etching out the constellation of Aries. His collar covers the birth date, but you suppose most people don’t bother covering their marks at all because in this world they’re near meaningless. Only kindergarteners go around bragging about their marks. No one above the age of five cares. 

…Except you. Kind of. 

It’s just that… how could something like this exist just to be disregarded as a gimmick? Having the stars of someone else’s birth charted out onto your skin… There has to be _some_ reason, right? You know that obsessing over it won’t do any good—but now, glancing back down at the permanent piece of somebody else woven into your skin, a quiet sort of resentment twists your insides unpleasantly. 

 _There’s no reason_ , you deflate, slumping into your seat. _It just is_. 

* * *

 

“Happy birthday.” 

You blink as a vanilla cupcake is promptly thrust into your face. Behind it, a pair of slate blue eyes gaze at you languidly. “Thank you, Kuroko,” you reply warmly, taking the offered sweet into your hands. 

“Oi, you’re going to share, right?” 

Kuroko elbows Kagami’s intrusive presence out of the way. “It’s not for you. Wait for your birthday.” 

Kagami scowls. “My birthday’s already passed!” 

“Then wait for the next and shut up.” 

You snort and the redheaded powerhouse turns to glower at you. It doesn’t take long to smooth over your expression into the utmost display of perfectly practiced innocence. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for the game?” you ask wryly. “I hear snacks before exercise cause stomach cramps.” 

“That’s swimming!” 

“Come on,” Kuroko says, pulling Kagami with him by the jersey. “Coach will want to make a speech.” Over his shoulder, even amidst Kagami’s comical struggling, he manages to offer a kind. “Happy birthday again. Thank you for your hard work, even on a day like today.” 

Always so polite, that one. 

Truthfully, even if you’d had better plans to spend your birthday, you’re pretty certain you’d have come along with the team to watch them play anyway. Your eyes flicker back to your cupcake—better get a drink before it starts, you don’t want to miss any epic plays because of a dry throat, after all. 

The walk to the drink machines isn’t far and you’ve been to enough games by now to be able to map your way around easily. However, the urge to resist licking a bit of frosting from the top is impossible and that only makes it ten times more embarrassing when you suddenly stumble into somebody else for your lack of attention. “ _Ack_!” You’re jerked backwards by the force of impact and your cupcake… 

…rest in peace, sweet confection. Gone too soon. Way too soon. 

It’s in pieces on the floor and belatedly you notice the drips of frosting caked to the stranger’s shoe. Oops. That’s… not good. Your eyes glance upward to find a boy with primly styled grassy hair eying the mess before him with no uncertain degree of distain. “Um…” you begin, trailing off immediately. 

With a sigh, ignoring you completely, he pulls out a hankerchief and gets to work cleaning off his shoe. 

You should help, shouldn’t you? 

Hesitantly, you kneel, picking up bits of the destroyed cupcake with a sinking feeling in your stomach. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t… I should’ve been watching where I was going—“ 

“Food isn’t typically allowed in the gymnasium,” comes the curt reply. 

You blink. “Uh, well, it was kind of a gift…? I didn’t know. I meant to eat it after I got a drink, umm..” It’s then you notice that he’s wearing a uniform — duh, there _is_ a game today— but it’s…orange. Shutoku… Oh god. You’d caked the enemy. 

With his shoes effectively cleaned, the boy stands and you slowly make your way up too, feeling entirely awkward next to his extremely imposing stature. Basketball players… the only one within an inch of you was Kuroko and even that was debatable once you took your heeled school uniform shoes off. A bit shaken, you toss the forsaken bits of the cupcake into the nearest bin and clap your hands together until you’re crumb-free. 

He stares at you for a long, painfully awkward moment before blurting, “Perhaps you should consider following Oha Asa to avoid such unnecessary misfortune in the future.” 

Oha…Asa? 

“Isn’t that… a horoscope?” Instinctively, you move to cover your wrist, a flush rising to your cheeks. 

You can tell your abrupt movement caught his eye but he politely leaves it unmentioned. “It is. Having an approximation of your astrological odds and carrying your daily lucky item with you will only help avoid such situations.” 

“You believe that?” 

At this, rather than looking embarrassed like you were worried he might, he nods firmly. “Yes. I always carry Cancer’s.” 

 _Cancer_ , you muse, rubbing your wrist idly. _The Crab_ … “I’ve never met anyone before that doesn’t treat astrology like a joke,” you admit. “All of my friends kind of make fun of it, you know? The…marks, especially. But I’ve wondered sometimes— um,” realizing you’re about to off on a tangent, you stop yourself quickly. “Sorry, you’re on the Shutoku team, right? You probably have to get ready for the game and I’m rambling and assaulting you with cupcakes— just—sorry.” The words come out so quickly that you blush when the boy’s eyes narrow warily. 

“You’re wearing a Seirin coat,” he notes, ignoring the rest. 

“I borrowed it from a friend.” Borrowed is kind of a loose term but Kiyoshi never minds anything. Mostly. Besides his is the most comfortable because of his size, though keeping the sleeves rolled up is a struggle. “But, yeah… I’m from Seirin.” 

He nods slowly. 

_Way to go, idiot. He already knew that!_

_“_ I do have to report for warmup,” he admits, though his tone suggests he finds the matter entirely pointless. But he hesitates, giving you a strange look before replying, “If you provide me your birth date, I could… tell you what your item for today is. So that you might not encounter anymore…cupcake assaults.” He pushes his glasses up with two fingers and in the movement you almost miss the red tint to his cheeks. 

“Oh,” you laugh nervously. “This is kind of embarrassing, but today’s actually my birthday. That cupcake was a gift from my friend.” 

He blinks more than a few times in succession, enough to be almost comical. “…Today?” 

“Uh, yes?” 

“Forgive the strange question, but what year at Seirin are you in?” 

It’s your turn to blink. “Second,” you reply slowly, the hand covering your wrist suddenly itching. 

More blinking. 

“ _MIDORIMA_! _OI_ , _CARROT_?! WHERE ARE YOU? WARMUP'S IN FIVE!” 

Midorima? As in… Kuroko’s ex teammate, _Midorima_?! 

“Takao…” the boy mutters like it’s a curse. Still, he glances over his shoulder warily like it’s only a matter of time until Takao finds him. 

“Midorima… When’s _your_ birthday?” 

He turns, an unmistakable stiffness to his shoulders. “July 7th.” 

Your other hand’s vice grip on your wrist lessens until it finally lets go. “Huh.” And if he’s Kuroko’s age… Your eyes find the year and a huff of laughter escapes you disbelievingly. “…Weird.” 

“I understand now why Oha Asa’s lucky item for Cancer today was a handkerchief,” is his slow reply and it sounds stilted like he’s trying to keep himself from choking. You meet his gaze, your knees two seconds away from trembling. “I have to go,” Midorima says resolutely, taking one long, careful step towards you. You turn your wide eyes up at him. He pulls something from his pocket before holding it out to you— a small can of milk tea. “It’s the lucky item for those born under the sun of today…” 

“But why would you—“ _Oh._

Did he… always carry two lucky items, on the off chance…? 

A smile threatens to overtake your entire face. You accept the drink graciously. “Thanks.” 

“THERE YOU ARE!” 

Your smile turns into bubbling laughter at Midorima’s sour expression as a boy with irritated blue eyes comes charging down the hall. “Good luck today,” you tell him, holding the drink to your chest, feeling a sudden warmth crashing over you. “Not that you’ll need it, s _hooting guard_.” 

He doesn’t even bother to pretend to be surprised. You must be losing your touch or something. 

“Perhaps next time the spy of Seirin won’t be wishing me luck wearing the colors of the opposing team,” he says bluntly, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. 

“Hmm. Oha Asa says ‘don’t count on it’.” 

“That’s not how—“ he catches your mischievous expression and relents, his shoulders un-tensing. “I see, well…“ 

“Oi, what’s up with you?” the boy with blue eyes slings an arm around Midorima’s shoulder, despite the pensive expression that crosses the green-haired teen’s face. His icy eyes widen when they focus on you, or namely, your stolen jacket. “Oi, oi. If you want a girlfriend, fine, but the enemy, Shin-chan?” In contrast with his words is the obvious smirk pulling at his lips. 

Midorima splutters. “Shut up! Let’s go!” 

You watch the pair leave—Takao being dragged by the jersey, Midorima taking purposefully long steps to get out as soon as possible. 

Like so many times before, your eyes are drawn to your wrist—your mark. Unlike every other time before, though, this time you don't bother trying to convince yourself that all your hoping is meaningless. Maybe there is a reason; maybe there isn't. Whether by coincidence or the universe's meddling, you think you've found the beginning of your answer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternate ending:
> 
> Takao: you miss 100 % of the shots you don't take, Shin-chan ( ͡ᵔ ͜ʖ ͡ᵔ)  
> Midorima: die


	3. SPLIT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPLIT: an uncommon bond where a soul finds itself split into numerous pieces based on a decision left unmade in a past life presenting itself in a familiar setting + situation to prepare those bonded for resolution.

The week that Kagami leaves for Japan—without saying _goodbye_ — is the day your parents collectively put their feet down and you essentially are put on preemptive probation. They’d caught you frantically Googling cheap plane tickets out of L.A., even going so far as to post ads on sketchy websites to buy secondhand. (When your mother had seen your slightly delirious posts, she’d swatted you upside the head and told you to get a job, or something, if you had the time to be this obsessive.) 

But it’s not obsession so much as anger and hurt on a level you’ve never experienced before. After all those years spent growing up by each other’s side, through thick and thin, he couldn’t at least have the decency to leave you a letter? To drop you a text? 

To: Taiga 

 [ _U IDIOT_ ((╬◣﹏◢))

> sent 12:24 a.m. ] 

 

[ _IF I EVER SEE U AGAIN I’M GOING TO END U MYSELF TAIGA_

> sent 12:26 a.m.] 

It’s about an hour after you send these texts (that go indefinitely _unread_ …) when your phone lights up, vibrating. You’ve been spending your time trying to fall asleep in-between glaring at the ceiling fan and at your slightly cracked open bedroom door. With a wave of exhaustion sweeping over you, you reach over to pick it up and put it to your ear. 

“You should be in bed,” the voice says immediately. 

At literally any other point time, you might’ve smiled. Now? You’re just so tired and sad and confused. “I can’t sleep.” 

“I know.” 

“You too, huh?” 

“No. I saw this coming.” A pause while a pang of annoyance hits you clear in the chest. He _knew_? “Don’t huff so angrily at me. I only meant that it was obvious he wouldn’t stay through high school. There’s nothing here left for him.“

“I’m here. _You’re_ here. Alex is—“ 

“Taiga never wants to be held back, you know this.” 

“What did you do?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You said you saw this coming, but you two haven’t even really spoken in months. _What did you do_?” 

“Go to sleep,” is the amicable reply, but you know this voice well enough to catch the underlying edge. Your name rolls off his lips in the brotherly way it has all your life but for some reason this time instead of comfort it just fills you with frustration. 

“If you leave too, I really am going to stow away on a plane or something, so don’t even think about it, Tatsuya!” 

He laughs.

You’re still not completely convinced but exhaustion wins out over your stubbornness just this once. You fall asleep with a faint buzz of static in your ear, and you wake up slightly startled to find that neither of you had ended the call. Your mouth is dry as you eye the phone between your hands contemplatively— it’s only as you clumsily watch it slip through your fingers that you see it; 

The incomplete looking splash of ink creeping up the length of the palm of your hand. It bends and twists in shapes you only recognize vaguely as having seen it written by two of your childhood friends on rare occasions. 

A drowsy voice murmurs your name on the other end, and you wonder if he’s only waking now. “’Suya,” you mutter, bringing the phone back up to your ear and staring dumbly at the new, incredibly strange mark on your hand. “…Can you read this?” You snap a quick picture of the newfound aberration and send it. 

“Huh…?” A minute of silence and then. “It’s not finished— did you write this?” 

“No, dumbass! Do you think I learned Japanese overnight??? I woke up with it, it definitely wasn’t there when I went to sleep! What does it say?” 

“They’re just… numbers. It’s a date, I think?” His voice is gruff with sleep and confusion. “Are you sure Alex didn’t prank you while you were sleeping, or something?” 

“Why would _Alex_ do this?” 

“Because I think it’s the day we all started practicing together. I can’t really tell, sorry. The year is missing.” 

You consider it. It wouldn’t be the first time Alexandra Garcia broke into one of your homes to pull off an inane prank—or to wake one of you for an insanely early practice with a _less than family-friendly_ kiss. You bring your index finger to your lips, a whole new wave of anxiety sweeping over you. You’re a light sleeper. There’s no way she’d get away with something elaborate like this. “Are you busy today?” you ask, already getting up to pull on whatever clothes are nearby. 

“No,” Tatsuya replies. “Do you want me to come over?”

“Would you?” 

“Of course.” Another tell-tale pause, so common with someone as considerate as Tatsuya Himuro. “Hey, it’s going to be alright. It’s strange, sure, but there’s—there’s nothing wrong with you, you know?” 

“Okay,” you bite your lip, “Thanks, Tatsuya.” 

“I’ll bring donuts.” 

You smile to yourself, but that feeling of worry does not dissipate entirely. Far from it, in fact. 

* * *

(2 years later.) 

* * *

 

“Stop itching.” 

“I can’t help it,” you complain, shoving your ‘afflicted’ hand into your hoodie’s pocket. Your eyes have not stopped roaming the place frantically, as though afraid to catch the gaze of the one person you are not exactly looking forward to seeing. It’s strange how you could spend two years wallowing over the disbandment over your little trio and then faced with the possibility of reuniting suddenly… suddenly something just doesn’t feel _right_. Though you’d seen Tatsuya and Taiga play against each other plenty of times on the courts in L.A. this was too different to be comfortable. They’d never been so far from each other before despite being in the same vicinity. 

“You’re so dramatic,” Alex sighs, placing a hand on your head and tousling your hair. The expression on her face, however, is an exasperatedly fond one. “I’m going to go wish Tatsuya luck and make sure he hasn’t been slacking in practice. Do you want to come with me?” 

“No,” you reply, “‘Suya’s probably sick of seeing me by now, but I’ll talk to him before the game starts…” Probably. Your mind keeps wandering to the players in red and black you’d passed earlier. Taiga hadn’t been among them at the time but your mind hadn’t un-tensed since spotting the name ‘Seirin’ attached to their jerseys. You turn your eyes back to your blond companion to find she’s fixing you with a strangely stern look. “What? I’ll be fine.” 

“Don’t let what those supposed experts told you about that mark get to you, okay?” her voice lowers, softens. “I know you’ve been worried about seeing them together again because of it, like this is your own curse to bear, or something equally ridiculous, but nothing could be further from the truth. Tatsuya and Taiga were always going to grow out of their comfort zones—that mark is not responsible for either of them leaving, okay?” 

_“These marks are quite rare… a ’Split’ soul bond is normally only seen between those with unresolved past life trauma. In most cases observed, the one bearing the mark is the catalyst for the events of the past to play themselves out in order to prompt resolution. You are lucky to have realized this while you are still so young! Most with a Split mark spend years trying to find their other halves—always wondering.”_

_Lucky._ You certainly don’t feel it. 

 _“_ I know,” you repeat monotonously. Alex gives you another _Look._ “Okay, it’s not my fault. Even if every practicing psychic I’ve ever seen has said this stupid mark literally means I’m cursed, but at least it’s not my _fault_ I’m cursed, right?” 

“You’re such a brat.” 

“Go.” You gently nudge the older woman’s shoulder as she gives you an unimpressed glance above her glasses. “Tell him I’m expecting a good game while you’re there.” 

“I thought you were going to talk to him?” 

“I guess I changed my mind.” 

A hand finds itself weaved into your hair once more. “Stop brooding,” she says lightly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Despite her usually perverted nature, this gesture is a distinctly maternal one. “But I’m sure he’ll be happy to hear it. Don’t wander too far and keep your cellphone on.” A warning.

“Yes, mother.” 

“Brat. Okay, I’ll find you before the game starts.” 

You nod absentmindedly and watch as she turns on her heel in the other direction. A hefty sigh escapes you as you turn the other way and begin wandering without destination. The game doesn’t start for at least another thirty-minutes. Your feet guide you while your brain works on overdrive, eventually bringing you to a set of glass doors—

— and a pair of widening crimson eyes behind them. The owner of the pair’s mouth opens wide and shuts abruptly before he scrambles with the strap of his gym bag, tosses it to the side, and makes a beeline for the doors. For you. 

You aren’t ready for this. 

Panicked, you quickly turn and begin half-sprinting in the opposite direction. But those legs are far longer than yours and he catches up easily, pulling you back by the shoulder. He breathes out your name in disbelief before asking, “What are you doing here? Did you come with Alex?? Where have you been staying? What? Just— _what_?” 

“I—“ you swallow. “I… I’m here to see the game. I didn’t… Alex flew me out after she arrived, I’m… leaving in a few days. I just came for the game today.” 

God, your palm is burning. 

Taiga blinks, eyebrows slowly furrowing. “Does…he know you’re here?” 

“Um, yes. Because unlike somebody Tatsuya actually responds to my texts and e-mails.” 

“Ah…” A hand reaches up to scratch the back of his neck awkwardly and it’s such a familiar gesture that you find yourself smirking at the sight of it. Some things, at least, don’t change. “You’re taller.” And then his eyes grow momentarily wider as though he hadn’t meant to let that one slip before they take the rest of you in, probably inwardly noting the difference from the last time he’d seen you. 

“Well, time is funny like that.” 

“I didn’t mean—“

“It’s okay,” you respond softly. “I know what you meant. You’re taller, too. If you grow any more you probably won’t even be able to fit in my mom’s tiny ass car.” 

He snorts. “Does she still have that thing?”

“Unfortunately.” 

“Um… what about you? Are you still playing?” 

“Yeah. I’ll be captain of the girl’s team at my school next year.” 

“Oh, that’s… cool.” His gaze averts yours, you can feel the unbearable awkward atmosphere you’d been fearing crashing down all around the pair of you. “Are you any good?”

“Excuse _me_?” 

His expression becomes startled. “Wait, no—! I didn’t mean—! I just… would you wanna play before you leave? Sometime?” 

It’s your turn to blink, blindsided. “Oh… yeah, okay. Sure.” 

“Cool.” 

“…Cool.” 

“Do you…” Another neck scratch. “Want to meet my team? I think you’ll really like my coach. She kind of reminds me of you, actually.” 

You nod, smiling genuinely. 

 

* * *

To Suya: 

 

[ _I’m sorry_

> sent 7:46 p.m., read 7:50 p.m. ]

 

[ _I’m bringing donuts ok?_ (♡μ_μ)

> sent 8:00 p.m., read 8:02 p.m.] 

 

* * *

“Did someone die?” you ask, regarding all the flower bouquets and cards strewn about the locker room haphazardly. Tatsuya spares you the barest, most unimpressed look he can manage before turning his attention back to packing his gym bag. “Seriously, what is all this?” 

The giant munching on potato chips in the corner explains, “Muro-chin has a lot of admirers,” but his eyes are keenly set on the box resting in your arms. “But none of the others brought snacks. This one is the best, ‘ne, Muro-chin? Flowers will die, donuts are eternal.” 

Tatsuya rolls his eyes and he isn’t the only one. 

“I brought them for the team, really, so—“ 

“You really shouldn’t have said that,” the captain comments dryly. The miserable expressions on each of their faces are hard to miss, so you suspect the light banter is at least a little appreciated to alleviate the tense atmosphere. 

Potato-crunch-giant makes his way over and takes a donut, offering casually, “Thanks for the food, admirer-chin.” 

“I’m not—“ 

“She’s my childhood friend, Atsushi,” remarks Tatsuya, sounding particularly peeved. To you, he adds, “Don’t let him eat the entire box. Last time he did, he fell into a food-coma and missed practice for two weeks.” 

“She couldn’t stop me if she tried,” states Atsushi matter-of-factly. “Admirer-chin’s small enough I could crush her.” 

“Um. Please don’t… Here, have another one with sprinkles. Consider it my sacrificial offering to survive another day un-squished?” 

“I like this one,” the giant smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes which are still brimming with intensity. Understandable, you think, after the game they’ve just had. Still, he pats your head kindly. “Sacrifice accepted, disciple-chin.” 

A hand reaches out and around you to sneak into the box, pulling out a chocolate donut. “Thanks,” a voice remarks smoothly, and you tilt your head to find the Yosen point guard giving you a crooked sort of smile. “It’s really not fair that Himuro has such a cute friend to look out for him when he’s already got the rest of the female population prepared to do the same…” 

“Fukui,” Tatsuya warns. 

“What? You can’t have them _all_ , Casanova.” 

“Oh,” you say. “It’s not—It’s not like _that._ ” 

It’s not like you’d _never_ thought about it, but given the fact that you practically grew up together… you’d discarded the probability of it a long time ago. Besides— you and Tatsuya? … How ridiculous…right? 

“Me thinks the lady doth protest too much,” another voice comments idly; the small forward. You turn just in time to catch Fukui throwing a dirty sock at him. “Thou art most rude…pissant.” He throws it back which ends up prompting a sort of all-out sock war. 

“Come on,” Tatsuya grabs you by the elbow, gently, and he tosses the box of donuts onto a neglected bench. “You do _not_ want to be caught in the middle of that when the coach comes back…” 

“Where are we going?” 

“On a walk. I don’t know. Somewhere.” He pauses. “Did Alex give you a curfew?” 

“I mean, _no_.” 

“Text her anyway so she doesn’t make this a national incident,” he replies dryly. “I want to show you something downtown and if it gets too late, you can crash at mine. My parents won’t mind.” 

You flush, grateful to be stepping out into the dark of night where your red-cheeks can be kept masterfully hidden. Sleepovers when you were both kids who didn’t know any better is one thing…  “Are you sure that’s alright?” 

“Yeah, why?” 

“Never mind,” you respond quickly, embarrassed your brain even travelled _there_ for even a split second. You turn your head, just has his hand drops from your elbow to your hand, picking it up and observing it idly for a moment. You glance over at him, finding his expression to be slightly pained. “What?” 

“This isn’t still…bothering you, right?” 

“No, I’m sort of used to it.” 

“You keep it hidden,” Tatsuya notes. “Your hands are always in your pockets.” 

“Just because I’m used to it now doesn’t mean I want anybody else to see it.” 

“Why?”

“Because it’s not normal.” 

“So?” 

“Because it means I come with baggage,” you add, your tone slightly clipped and just when you think Tatsuya might drop your hand _and_ this line of conversation, he grips it tighter. Your eyes narrow, your heart leaping into your throat. “It means I’ll never be whole, like everybody else. It means I’m always going to be torn in two different directions — because it means I’m being punished for something _I_ didn’t even do!” 

He tugs at your hand and at once you’re pulled into warm arms. His chin rests easily upon your head, though it still slightly annoys you that he’s gotten so much taller, you can’t help but feel _safe_. “Shut up. I never want to hear you say such cruel things about yourself again.” 

“You don’t get it,” you mumble, but the words are muffled against his chest and end up sounding more like, “ _youdonfetit_ ”. 

“I don’t care. I know you better than anyone else and I’m telling you there’s nothing wrong with you.” 

Your heart is pounding in your chest, your stomach sinking — something about this entire situation, coming to Japan, feels like a choice. And turning your eyes up at Tatsuya, finding his grey eyes peering down at you so resolutely… It feels like it’s a choice that’s already been made. Your hand clutched in-between his burns, like it’s remembering the touch of a hand long lost to the past, like it’s remembering _home_.

He says your name. 

It echoes in the back of your head in someone else’s voice but everything else about the feelings it ignites is the same. 

“What?” you ask, voice cracking. 

He dips his head, then, meeting your height and presses his lips to yours. Softly, at first, but once you let out a surprised little whimper, consequentially causing your mouth to fall open in an ‘o’ shape, he smiles against your lips briefly, before sliding his tongue in and over your own. You aren’t sure how long you stand there, beneath the street lamps, kissing like you’re the stars of some trashy American drama but it feels like it’s been forever when Tatsuya pulls away with a satisfied expression. 

His hand still pressed to yours, slowly untangles your fingers which have balled up, and he steadily uncovers the palm of your hand to reveal the new mark inked below the original. 

“I still can’t read it,” you admit flatly. 

Tatsuya chuckles. “It’s today’s date, with the year and everything.” 

“Did you know that would happen?” 

“I’d hoped that whenever your choice was made it would be with me.” 

“…Nice save, smartass. Now what did you want to show me?” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm thinking i'll do a pt.2 kagami/reader version of this that takes off when reader is meeting seirin???? since i'm too lazy to come up w/ a new concept for him v__v and i'd like to delve in further into the past life concept way more since i imagined it was kagami that was the 'runner' anyway 
> 
> alternate ending: 
> 
> Alex: they only know how to kiss bc of me *teary eyed, clenched fists* i'm so proud  
> Kagami: what the Fuck


End file.
